


Naked Beauty Displayed

by rosewiththorns



Series: Hot Blood [5]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Begging for Orgasm, Detroit Red Wings, Dominant/Submissive, Fondling, Foot Massage, French Kissing, Kissing, Kneeling, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Sexual Submission, Stripping, Training, erotic spanking, foot worship, handjob, references to past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 12:31:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7171325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewiththorns/pseuds/rosewiththorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is determined to teach Hank that his body is beautiful. Please read warning in author's note.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Naked Beauty Displayed

**Author's Note:**

> Please be aware that this story contains references to past abuse suffered by Hank in a prior relationship, so exercise caution when making the choice to read this piece. Thank you.

“Art can never exist without naked beauty displayed.”—William Blake

Naked Beauty Displayed

Steve’s toes were warm and malleable between Hank’s fingers as he knelt in the foyer, massaging the aches out of the joints after another exhausting but exhilarating day at the rink, and Hank, who was still a novice in the art of giving foot massages because Erik had never asked for anything so tender from him when his main interest had been inflicting pain on Hank, was starting to relax, the tension uncoiling from his own muscles as he kneaded Steve’s toes, when Steve’ hand tangling in his hair and guiding his face toward Steve’s feet. 

Flashbacks of Erik’s feet flying toward his face—because Erik had liked kicking his nose and mouth until they were blue with bruises—flared like fireworks in his mind, and he tried to tug away but found that his hair was trapped between Steve’s fingers. Panic pounding in his ears like a drum, he was about to yank his head out of Steve’s clutch even if it meant he lost half the hairs on his head and would probably face naked corner time and a spanking for what Steve would doubtlessly define as refusing to give a foot message when Steve released him. As Hank flinched away from Steve’s feet as if afraid they would sprout fangs and bite off his nose, Steve eyed Hank with an expression that Hank interpreted to mean Steve was wondering what mental malfunction was making his submissive act in such a mad manner. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” Steve’s tone was sympathetic, not judgmental as Hank had feared, and he had never used such an endearment—one that made Hank’s skin tingle as if touched by tropical sunlight—before with Hank. 

Steve’s gentle question and pet name felt so much like a caress that Hank, swallowing hard, managed to choke out, “I was afraid you would kick me in the face.” 

“I will never kick you.” Steve’s thumb stroked Hank’s trembling jawline. “On your face or anywhere else. That will be one of our hard limits, okay, honey?” 

“Yes, sir.” Hank leaned into Steve’s touch, content as a kitten. Then, overcome by the curiosity of a cat, he murmured, “May I ask a question, Master?” 

“Of course.” Steve cupped Hank’s chin. “What do you want to know, precious?” 

“If you weren’t going to kick me—“ Hank’s fingers fiddled with the carpet—“what were you doing pulling my head toward your feet, sir?” 

“I admit I have something of a fetish for foot worship.” Steve smiled down at Hank in a way that made Hank feel as if his lungs had dropped into his stomach. “I was trying to encourage you to kiss and maybe even lick my feet.” 

“Oh.” Hank’s forehead furrowed, because while he knew that some dominants expected their submissives to worship their feet with kisses and licks, Erik had always demanded cock worship, not foot worship, and Hank was nervous about gagging if feet tasted and smelled like rotten cheese when he kissed and licked them. Doing something like that would make him look like a rebellious submissive who didn’t want to perform a sexual service for his master, but refusing to worship his dominant’s feet would be even more irreverent. He was caught between a rock and a hard place, aware that he was trapped and about to get smashed to smithereens. “I never did foot worship before, Master.” 

“That’s all right.” Steve patted Hank’s cheek, and Hank was so grateful that it was an accepting pat—not a resounding, rejecting slap—that tears welled in his eyes. “You don’t have to do it now.” 

“I want to do it now, sir.” Hank’s neck was soaked with sweat, but Steve caring so much about making him comfortable made him want to please his master. Kissing and licking feet for the first time would be awkward, but it wouldn’t feel bad when the man he was lavishing that kind of love on did deserve it. “I’ve never done it before, but I’ll do my best for you, I promise.” 

“You’re a delight, Hank,” gasped Steve, as Hank bent forward to brush tentative lips across Steve’s feet. The skin was drier and tougher than Hank had expected, so to moisten and soften it, Hank flicked out his tongue like a lizard’s and discovered that Steve’s feet tasted salty. Driven on rather than repulsed by the taste of Steve, Hank lapped at Steve’s toes and ran his tongue in long stripes down Steve’s feet until he reached his ankles. He repeated this trail, loving the moaned praises Steve rained down on him, until Steve stilled him with a breathless command: “Put your feet in my lap.” 

Shifting his body so that his back pressed against the floor, his butt rested across Steve’s feet, his legs rose up Steve’s like vines, and his feet draped in Steve’s lap, Hank stared up at Steve, both afraid and eager to find out what Steve had in store for his feet.

“I want to lick your balls.” Steve’s tongue circled fervently around the balls of Hank’s feet. “The balls of your feet, that is.” 

Steve’s tongue tickled but it also sent stabs of pleasure shooting throughout Hank’s body with every lick, so Hank was squirming, laughing, and groaning for what felt like an eternity before Steve pulled his mouth away from Hank’s feet with a damp pop. Tapping Hank’s toes to ensure he had Hank’s full focus, Steve announced firmly, “It’s time we continued your training to address the issues of you hiding yourself from me and coming without my permission. I want you to go upstairs and undress. Take off every article of clothing you are wearing, put it in the hamper, and then kneel on the floor by the bed to wait for me. When you kneel, I want your calves tucked behind you with your bottom resting on top of them, your knees and legs spread so that I can see everything, and your hands laying palm-up on your thighs. Any questions?” 

“No, Master.” Even though Steve had seen him naked and made love to him the previous evening, Hank still felt self-conscious about the idea of exposing his privates to Steve’s exploration when he knelt, but he knew that it would be wrong for him to argue with or defy his master’s commands.

“Up you go then.” Steve nudged Hank’s feet off his lap. 

Feeling as if his feet had been replaced with concrete, Hank shuffled up to his bedroom. Once he shut his bedroom door, he took a deep breath and began to strip as his dom had commanded. Since removing his shirt seemed least revealing, Hank slid it off first, dumping it into the hamper. The relative chill of the air hitting his bare skin made Hank’s nipples stiffen as he unzipped the fly of his jeans and wiggled out of them. Tossing them into the hamper, he glanced down at his briefs, and steeling himself with a stern internal reminder that he couldn’t put off the inevitable and delaying would only make it worse, Hank pulled down his underwear, feeling vulnerable although he was alone because he knew that Steve would soon be arriving to inspect his naked body. 

Gnawing at his lower lip so fiercely that it split—tainting his mouth with the iron flavor of blood—Hank knelt and assumed the revealing position Steve had described. He must have taken longer than he thought to strip and assume the pose Steve had outlined, because he had only just finished arranging himself as Steve had ordered when the door swung open. Hank shivered as he heard the door close and watched Steve cross the room to sit before him on the bed. 

Steve’s eyes roved over Hank’s body—lingering at his nipples and his genitals in a way that made Hank feel hot with mingled humiliation and desire—as he remarked, “I know it is difficult for you to assume a position that exposes all of you to my gaze, Hank, but it must be done, because not must you learn that you are mine, you must also learn that you shouldn’t be ashamed of your body since it is handsome, not ugly.” 

“Yes, Master.” Hank was sniffling, whether from the embarrassment of Steve staring at his naked body or from gratefulness that Steve was praising his body, not insulting it as Erik had done whenever he had seen it. 

“Good boy.” Crooning, Steve ruffled Hank’s hair. “Your hair is beautiful and made for running fingers through, pet.” 

“Thank you, sir.” Lowering his eyes, although modesty was probably stupid when he was wearing nothing more than he had come into the world with, Hank flushed brighter than bacon at Steve’s compliment. 

“Your shoulders are strong and made for massaging.” Steve squeezed at Hank’s shoulders as his palms passed them on a journey down to his nipples. Teasing Hank’s perky nipples with rubs, pinches, and pulls, Steve went on, “Your nipples are perfect for fondling, and—“ Steve’s hands darted between Hank’s parted legs, stroking at Hank’s cock, which surged to life under his touch—“much the same could be said of your dick.” 

“Of course, that wouldn’t be entirely accurate.” Steve shot Hank a wry grin as he withdrew his attention from Hank’s penis, eliciting a groan from Hank. “After all, your body isn’t really yours, is it, my dear little sub?” 

“That’s right, Master.” Hank nodded obediently and tried to ignore the fact that his dick was begging for more stimulation, since he sensed that masturbating without permission would earn him a punishment. “My body isn’t really my own.” 

“Let’s play a little game to test how much you have learned.” Steve’s eyes gleamed as he laced his fingers through Hank’s hair. “Whose hair is this, baby?” 

“Yours, Master.” Hank spoke so softly that he wasn’t sure Steve could hear him, but apparently he did. 

Combing his fingers through Hank’s hair, Steve observed, “That’s right, honey, and I like to run my fingers through it.” As his fingers slipped down to play with Hank’s aroused nipples, he asked, “Whose nipples perfect nipples am I fondling, pet?” 

“Yours, sir.” Hank’s breath caught in his throat as Steve’s fingers pinched at the sensitive nubs on his chest. 

Chuckling quietly at Hank’s reaction to his teasing fingers, Steve caressed a path down Hank’s abdomen to the final destination of Hank’s cock and balls. As one hand squeezed at Hank’s throbbing testicles, the other trailed the length of Hank’s erect dick, and Steve pressed, “Whose cock and balls am I toying with, love?” 

“Yours, Master.” Hank’s whole body shook with a need for release that he had to contain because his master had not granted him permission to orgasm. 

“And they are not too small.” Steve kissed Hank, tongue plunging through Hank’s lips to rub the roof of his mouth. “Especially when they are grown up like this.” 

Hank groaned against Steve’s tongue, and Steve gave Hank’s balls a light squeeze, asking, “Do you want to come, Hank?” 

“Yes, sir.” Frantically, Hank panted against Steve’s tongue. 

“Then beg for it.” Steve’s hand was stroking Hank’s dick so fast that Hank felt he might go mad from too much sensation in so delicate a region. 

“Please, Master,” rasped Hank, too overcome to know whether he was begging for release or to simply not have to lose what remained of his dignity by pleading for it. 

“Please what?” Steve’s tongue prodded against Hank’s, urging him to elaborate. Hank moaned, and Steve went on, tightening his grip on Hank’s, “If you don’t ask for what you want, I can’t give it to you, baby.” 

“Please, Master.” Hank had lost just enough pride to allow him to beg for an orgasm but had just enough of it left to feel humiliated about doing so. “Let me come.” 

“Why should I do that?” Steve’s tongue teased the inside of Hank’s mouth, and Hank felt as if he might faint from sensory overload. 

“I can’t hold it back any more, Master.” Hank’s voice was thick with desperation. 

“Let me give you one last squeeze.” Steve gave Hank’s balls a firm squeeze. “Now you may come, pet.” 

Hank shot a stream of semen into Steve’s pumping hand, and, ragged with relief, choked out, “Thank you, sir.” 

“Good boy. You did a great job begging me to let you come and only coming when I allowed you to. We’ll continue practicing that.” Steve extracted his tongue from Hank’s mouth and brought the hand soaked in Hank’s fluid to Hank’s lips. “Lick.” 

As Hank obeyed, tasting himself on Steve’s fingers, Steve inquired, his conversational air suggesting that they had done nothing more exciting than read a newspaper, “How do you like your training, Hank?” 

“It’s very good so far, Master.” Hank smiled as he continued to lap his juices off Steve’s finger. “Except when you spanked me last night for not eating the Caesar salad.” 

“That was a punishment spanking. It wasn’t mean to be fun.” Steve ruffled Hank’s hair with the hand Hank wasn’t licking. “Some spankings can be fun, though.” 

“Maybe for you, sir.” Hank couldn’t hold back a dubious snort, but his skepticism only garnered a chuckle from Steve. 

“For you, too, my dear little sub.” Steve removed his hand from Hank’s mouth, apparently satisfied that Hank had lapped up all the semen, and patted his lap with it. “Climb up here, and I’ll prove it to you.” 

Slowly—afraid to defy the order but not looking forward to obeying it—Hank laid himself across Steve’s knees. As Steve massaged the tension out of Hank’s shoulders with one hand, the other drifted down to rest over Hank’s hindquarters. Hank braced himself for a smack, but Steve just rubbed his hand across Hank’s rump, creating a friction that stirred Hank’s cock into uprightness again. 

When Hank couldn’t swallow a moan, Steve delivered a series of pats to Hank’s upturned rear, building a pleasant warmth that Hank could feel blooming across his backside, and pushing Hank’s excited dick further and further into the tight gap between Steve’s strong legs, bringing Hank to the verge of another orgasm, because submissive males had the blessing or curse of being prone to multiple orgasms. Obviously sensing Hank’s desperation Steve, gingerly separating the globes of Hank’s ass to expose the pink pucker of his quivering hole, murmured, “You’re getting excited, aren’t you, pet?” 

“Yes, Master.” Hank clutched at the comforter to keep himself from coming without his dom’s permission. 

“You may come whenever you like.” Steve’s fingers circled Hank’s anus, causing his whole body to quake, and, seconds later, go limp as he released a second stream of semen that landed on the floor between Steve’s shoes. 

“Thank you, Master,” whispered Hank when he could speak again. 

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you, honey?” Steve pressed a kiss into the nape of Hank’s neck. 

“Yes, sir.” Hank nodded, his ears feeling as pink and warm as his bottom. 

“No shame in admitting that.” Steve patted Hank’s buttocks, and Hank gasped in surprise at the spank. “Nothing wrong with enjoying an erotic spanking, love, especially since I figured you would.” 

“Why would you think that, sir?” Hank couldn’t understand how Steve would be able to guess something that he hadn’t known about himself until a moment ago. 

“Yesterday I gave you some love taps.” As he spoke of love taps, Steve applied a couple more to Hank’s bottom, and Hank tilted his backside invitingly upward into them. “You relaxed into those more than you seem to be aware.” 

“Is that bad, Master?” Hank nibbled his lip, wondering if he was a masochist who had deserved—and maybe even liked without knowing it—all the abuse that Erik had inflicted on him. 

“Of course not.” Steve’s finger was back to teasing the rim of Hank’s anus. “Nothing that is safe, sane, and consensual is bad, Hank. The bad stuff is what Erik did to hurt you, because he was the one who kicked you in your face, wasn’t he?” 

“In my face.” Hank buried his head in his hands. “In my stomach. In my balls. Anywhere that would cause a lot of pain or humiliation, Master.” 

“If I ever meet him—“ Steve’s fiercely protective tone made Hank feel as safe as a baby tucked into a mother’s embrace—“I’ll kick his butt and punch his nose and whatever else I can think of. Nobody gets away with hurting my dear little sub.” 

 

 

 


End file.
